“Have you seen Cyrus?” Jeanette asked, dropping an extra little plastic cup of cream onto the table in front of Danny Spaulding. The breakfast crowd had cleared out, and the two were almost alone.
“Why, what’s he complaining about now?”
“Nothing. I just haven’t seen him. He missed Rotary last night, and he wasn’t in this morning or yesterday, either. It’s not like him.”
Spaulding shrugged. “Maybe he hit it big with that fossil of his, went to Vegas. God knows he needs a vacation.”
Jeanette frowned. “I don’t think so. He would have said something. Maybe you should check on him.” Spaulding looked up at her with a smirk.
“What?” Jeanette asked.
“So you think Mr. Link is missing?” Spaulding replied, now grinning.
“Well, yes, that’s what I just ……”
“I’m just teasing, Peach. Missing link, get it? His fossil?”
“That’s not funny, Danny. I’m really worried.”
Spaulding straightened up, taking note of her genuine concern.
“Well, sure, Peach. I can send someone out there. Maybe he’s sick or something. We’ll check on him.”
Jeanette softened. “Okay, then. I just worry, that’s all.”
Spaulding smiled. “’cause you’re a sweetheart, Peach, that’s why.”
Jeanette squinted at him, then stuck out her tongue and walked to the next table.
He finished his breakfast, paid his bill and headed out to his patrol car. He sent a message to one of his deputies to take a trip out to Cyrus’ place and check on him. Then he drove into Rexburg to run some errands.
***
He pulled into the Beall’s parking lot and went inside to pick up his new uniform shirts, then stopped by Broulim’s and ran into the pharmacy for his medication. The maintenance of his professional apparel was a chore he enjoyed. The increasing demands of his doctor regarding the aging process, not so much.
He then pulled out onto Main St., drove a few blocks and pulled into the Madison County Sheriff’s parking lot.
“Hey, Sheriff Spaulding, how’s it going?” said the deputy behind the glass as Spaulding walked into the small foyer.
“Pretty good….”
“Spaulding?” A shout from the back cut him off. “Tell that rat snake to get his ass back to Jefferson County where he belongs. We don’t allow his kind up here in the civilized parts.”
Sheriff Jonas Stone, his counterpart in Madison County stuck his beefy head around the corner, a big smile on his face.
“Oh, hey, Danny. Didn’t know you were right there.”
Spaulding laughed. “Like hell, dirt bag. You got my paperwork done?” The door to the back buzzed, and Spaulding pulled it open and headed back to the administrative offices. Stone grabbed his hand in a firm shake.
“Not only do I have it done, but my grant writing skills will make this one a slam dunk. We’ll be rolling in dough for years.”
“All I need are the new data terminals, but thanks.”
“Everything good down there in Rigby? Got those commissioners of yours under control?” Stone gave him a wink.
“I don’t know about that, but they give me my vehicles, so I’m happy.”
“Not like the State Police days, is it? Here’s your money, get the job done. Now you have to say pretty please to a bunch of civilians about what kind of toilet paper you buy.” Stone laughed and slapped his shoulder, while Spaulding just grinned. “Can you sit for cup?”
Unlike his predecessor, Spaulding worked hard to maintain the relationships with the sister agencies in adjacent counties. None of them had the resources to do everything by themselves, especially when things got crazy, and collaboration was key. It also provided a good excuse to stop by the Daisy and see Jeanette almost every day.
Spaulding shook his head. “Would love to, but I’ve got to head back. Forms and reports, and there’s a commissioner meeting this afternoon I’ve got to be at. Thanks, though.”
“Sorry to hear that. You got someone for the drug task force?”
“I think so. I have to talk to him. We should be able to get a good piece of that. Keep the money moving.”
“You got that right. Well, take care Danny. I’ll zap those forms later this morning.”
“Thanks Jonas. Be seein’ ya.”
Spaulding got back into his patrol car and headed west on Main St, then turned onto US 20 south to Rigby. As he approached the Snake River bridge, his phone buzzed.
“Spaulding.”
“Hey, Sheriff. It’s Ben. I’m out at old Cyrus’ place. It ain’t good. You better come out.”
“What do you got?”
“He’s dead, looks like shot in the head.”
“Aw, shit. Suicide?”
“No, don’t think so. I don’t see a weapon.”
“Damn. Anybody else been out there?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Did you call Albert?”
“He’s still out, remember? Vargas is still covering for him. I, uh, thought it might be better if, uh, it came from you.”
Tony Vargas was a career member of the office, the senior detective minutes away from retirement. Although Spaulding respected Vargas’ skills, his short-timer attitude was becoming more of a challenge, so the two other investigators were his first choice for serious crimes. They were current on the technology and just had better eyes. But one was off to the greener pastures of the State Police, his vacant position as yet unfilled, and the other was on vacation. It would have to be Vargas.
“Okay, I’ll call him. How long you think he’s been laying there?”
“I don’t know, a day or two at least. It doesn’t smell too bad, but the blood is dry.”
“Okay, get out of there, don’t touch anything, and just sit tight until either me or Vargas gets there. It’ll probably be me.”
He hung up and made a quick call back to the office to cancel the rest of the morning and let the County folks know he might not be there this afternoon. Then he asked for Vargas.
“He’s not in yet, Sheriff. You want me to text him?”
“Yes, please. Have him call me.”
He pulled off 20 and headed west to the interstate. One of the old guard, Tony Vargas had his own schedule no matter how Spaulding tried to change his ways. After thirty minutes, his phone finally buzzed.
“Spaulding.”
“Morning, Danny.”
“Hey, Tony. I need your help.”
Silence. Spaulding gritted his teeth and continued.
“We’ve got a body, out by Mud Lake.” There was a shuffling sound on the other end, followed by some thumps and clattering.
“Son of a bitch. How fresh? I may not be able to get out there for a while.”
“Not very. It’ll keep.”
“Secure?”
“Ben Davis is out there now.”
“Huh. I’ll get moving. I’ve got to stop by the station and pick up my junk.”
“Okay, I’m headed out there now. If there’s anything different, I’ll let you know.”
They broke the connection, and Spaulding shook his head.
After retiring from the State Police, Danny moved back to his childhood home and laid low, enjoying his free time, and resuming his personal healing repairing the damage from his Army years abroad. But soon the local honchos came calling, and the courting began for him to run against old Charlie Zimmer, the longtime Sheriff who’d alienated the county elders and made the mistake of presuming he was indispensable.
Stories were floated to the papers hinting at financial irregularities, his frequent trips to Pocatello and Idaho Falls strip joints, and anonymous calls from disgruntled deputies. Spaulding knew the real reason for the falling out was Zimmer’s relationship with his ex-wife’s family, and a new girlfriend half his age. He was no longer respectable, and here was decorated Army veteran and retired State Trooper Danny Spaulding come back to the area.
Danny had played for the Ricks College football team that made a run at the NJCAA national championship. He was a local hero without baggage, at least the public or political kind, even though he wasn’t LDS.
Spaulding agreed to run and won the election easily. Immediately he ran into the wall of old-timers grumbling and resisting every change. He had to back off and slow down, but he was determined to raise the bar, modernize and professionalize a department that had long stagnated.
Spaulding knew he had the tacit support of the local elders, but he had to be careful. His relationship with the County Commissioners was not necessarily as solid as it should be, and he had to cultivate their support as well.
Unlike the State Police, the politics here was personal, so could be managed through relationships, but things could also go sideways with one sarcastic remark, one look, one inadvertent snub at the local bar or grocery store. Before, the state level politics balancing the divergent political interests eventually drove him out. He didn’t want to repeat that.
***
Without having to use lights and siren, he made good time out to Mud Lake, and pulled up next to Deputy Ben Davis’ cruiser in front of Cyrus’ house. As he stepped out of his vehicle, Davis came around from the back of the house holding a roll of crime scene tape.
“You got it secured?”
“Yessir. Looks like they came in the front, unforced, and left the same way. Back door and kitchen door are clean, no marks. Seems Cyrus never locked anything.”
Spaulding reached into his vehicle and removed a box of disposable booties. He went to the front door and put them on while the deputy held the door with his gloved hand. Spaulding donned latex gloves.
They went inside, touching nothing and treading carefully. The deputy gestured to the kitchen, and Spaulding stepped to the doorway. Cyrus Link lay on the floor prone, arms spread over his head, a small pool of dried blood around his upper body. Spaulding looked around the kitchen, the door to the dining room ajar, the exterior door closed and secured as the deputy had described. Nothing else seemed out of place. He turned to the living room. Cyrus’ desk was disorganized, some of the drawers open, other pieces of furniture in slight disarray, the china cabinet with one door ajar. Clearly the marks of some kind of search. Prominent in the corner was a recent model large screen, very nice for someone of Cyrus’ means. Cyrus’ recliner was positioned in front, the remote still on the seat. Spaulding turned to the deputy.
“Been through the rest?”
Davis nodded.
“Some of the other rooms look like they were tossed, but nothing broken. Haven’t looked too closely.”
“Take any pictures?”
The deputy shook his head, a little embarrassed.
“Uh, you know how Vargas gets…”
Spaulding nodded. “You’ve heard the ‘pissant greenhorn deputy’ speech?”
“‘Don’t touch my stuff!’” Davis grinned, pantomiming Vargas’s irritated gestures.
“Yeah, well, he’ll be out here in an hour or so. Sit tight until he gets here. See if he needs any help, and give me a call when you leave. We’ll have to get the wagon out here.”
Robert Wack 